It Never Hurts to Try
by magfreak
Summary: A series of vignettes on chauffeur Tom Branson and Lady Sybil's developing friendship taking place in a period-verse AU in which Sybil is unable to walk.
1. Chapter 1

_A new story! (Sort of.) (Not really.)_

_This drabble, originally posted on tumblr (magfreak dot tumblr dot com) months ago, comes from an anon prompt submitted to me about a year ago:_

I have a very vague prompt, hopefully it will spark some inspiration. What if Tom or Sybil found themselves in a similar situation to Matthew when he is injured?

_I've been meaning to post here for a long time, but just hadn't gotten around to it. Below is an edited version of the intro I wrote when I first posted on tumblr and the drabble itself . . ._

_An AU in which Tom or Sybil is disabled had been in the back of my mind even before I received this. Although the anon in this case didn't specify whether Tom or Sybil would have the disability, I chose Sybil because I wanted to do an S1/S2-era period story, and if Tom had suffered any type of life-altering injury back then back then, he'd just have been sent home to Ireland._

_The anon also said "similar situation to Matthew"—I don't know if they were specifically referring to the magically temporary nature of Matthew's paralysis, but I decided to make this a permanent condition that Sybil suffered at age 14 while riding. She had a spinal injury that affected use of her legs, which aren't totally paralyzed but have weakened and atrophied from lack of use. With exercise, Sybil could stand and take some steps with crutches, but at the time of her injury Robert and Cora didn't want to "burden" her with physical therapy (and she was too depressed to think about it back then) so she just uses a wheelchair. By now, three years later, she has accepted her condition, and she is more or less her feisty self again and straining under Robert and Cora's overprotectiveness. Gwen is her private maid and good friend, and Tom has just started with the family. I am no medical expert (obviously), though I am grateful for some insight on this type of condition provided by atleastihavemybrain on tumblr. Apologies for any and all lack of realism._

_This first chapter is Tom and Sybil's first real interaction. I don't have a full multi-chapter fic planned, so this will be more of a collection of vignettes that I will come back to periodically as the mood strikes. I have two other drabbles already done and will post those in the next few days._

* * *

"I'm sorry, milady, I should have seen it and avoided it," Gwen said, bending down to inspect the damage done to Sybil's wheelchair while the two were out for their daily walk in the garden. Pushing Sybil, Gwen inadvertantly ran over a rock that kicked up and lodged itself in the spokes of the right wheel, bending two of them and thus rendering the chair immobile.

"No, it's my fault for asking you to come off the path," Sybil said with a sigh. "That's my punishment, I suppose, for wanting to stray from our usual, well-worn circle."

"Your accident broke your legs, not your adventurous spirit," Gwen replied, "you're perfectly right to want to see more. I just wish we could find a better vehicle."

Sybil smiled. "I'd wish that it had been the opposite but then what good are good legs if all you want to do is sit in the drawing room all day."

Gwen smiled, knowing that Sybil was referring to her family, who cooped themselves up in the house for long stretches without travel, in supposed solidarity with Sybil, who wanted nothing more than to be allowed to leave once in a while.

Seeing that the chair was not going to budge, Gwen said, "Well, I best go inside and get the spare. Do you mind waiting here?"

"No, the weather is nice, in any case, although you best move me to the grass. I'm afraid what's left of this wheel will crumble beneath my weight."

Gwen stood back up and lifted Sybil by her shoulders and set her down on the grass. Using her hands, Sybil adjusted herself and tucked her legs beneath her. A passerby who didn't know her might think she had merely chosen to sit of her own accord to enjoy the flowers around her without guessing that she was unable to move from the spot until someone came to her rescue.

"I won't be long," Gwen said, and though she didn't, Sybil considered calling back and telling Gwen she could take her time. Solitude was rare for her now. It wasn't that she hadn't come to love Gwen as a friend, but her constant companionship, necessitated by her condition and insisted upon by her parents, robbed Sybil of the time to think and be on her own, time she used to prize when she was her own master and not what she considered herself now—a slave to the contraption of metal and wood sitting next to her, as immobile as she was.

Taking a deep breath, Sybil looked up to the sky, closed her eyes and smiled serenely as she felt the sun's gentle rays warm her skin. Hearing footsteps, she opened her eyes again and saw a man—a young one, by the look of it, surely not older than 25—walking down the path, from the opposite way she and Gwen had come.

He was newly in the service of the family and, like any new employee that had come in the last three years, was made fully aware of Lady Sybil's condition. In his first week, he had already driven Ladies Mary and Edith, so as he came upon her, he knew, even before noticing the chair with the misshapen wheel beside her, that she wasn't just sitting idly. In fact, he assumed she'd fallen so he walked quickly over to her.

"Pardon me, milady, but may I be of assistance?"

Sybil looked up putting her hand over her forehead to shield her eyes from sun.

"It's all right," she said, "Gwen has gone to fetch my spare wheelchair. I tend to abuse the wheels, and this one apparently had enough." She pointed to the misshapen spokes.

He kneeled down to look at it, and Sybil got her first look at his face, a handsome one, and what he was wearing, chauffeur's livery. Sybil had known Taylor, the previous chauffeur, fairly well, but only because he had been with the family long enough to have driven her around before her accident. In the time since, the number of times she'd been in the motor she could count on a single hand, her parents always insisting that her body could no longer handle travel. She might never had met this one if he hadn't passed by just now.

Examining the wheel, he said, "I could fix it if you like, but to be honest these are probably best kept inside the house."

She laughed. "I'm sure they are, just as I'm sure my parents purchased this chair precisely because they want me to stay inside the house. "

"Well that's hardly fair," he said, and almost as soon as the words we're out of his mouth he realized the implication of his words—he was questioning her parents, his employers. "I'm sorry," he added, sitting back on his heels and looking down, "who am I to question any parents' motivations? I'm sure they just want what's best for you."

"Please don't worry," Sybil replied with a smile. "No one has questioned my parents and their motivations more than I have."

He looked back at her, surprised at her candor, and looking into his eyes, Sybil wondered if here was another ally among the staff she could count on.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Branson, Tom Branson, milady. I'm the new chauffeur."

"I guessed as much," she said pointing to his jacket. "What are you doing so far from the garage?"

"Mr. Carson thought I should get the lay of the land. It's only my first week. I've been exploring a bit when I have nothing to do, though to this point those moments have been rare."

"Well, I'm glad to meet you," Sybil said. "It's likely we may never have seen each other otherwise."

"Really?"

"I don't travel much by motor. Or at all really."

"Why is that?"

Sybil furrowed her brow, surprised at the question given that the answer, so far as most other people were concerned, was obvious. "What do you mean?"

"Don't you like to travel, or ride in the motor?"

"I do, actually—well, I used to."

"So why don't you still? Is it uncomfortable?"

"No, it's, um, well . . . immediately after my accident my parents thought it unwise, and they said no so often that after a while I just stopped asking."

"Well, perhaps you should ask again," Tom said with an easy smile. "I'd be happy to take you anywhere."

Sybil smiled and looked down, suddenly feeling her cheeks warm.

Tom noticed and wondered if he'd embarrassed her, so he added. "It's my job, in any case."

"Right," Sybil said. "Maybe I will ask."

"You've got nothing to lose, right? There are so many open country roads here—it's almost as beautiful as the Irish country side. I'm sure it would do you good."

"Do you miss Ireland?"

"A bit, but not too much work to be had there."

"Have you always been a chauffeur?"

"No, and I won't always be one either."

Sybil smiled as his cocksure response, not doubting its veracity, even if she'd only known him a few minutes.

She was about to ask as to what ambitions he'd follow out of the motor trade when she heard Gwen coming back. Both turned at the sound of her footsteps, and Tom stood quickly.

"Sorry for the delay, milady," Gwen said as she approached.

"Branson was kind enough to keep me company," Sybil added.

Gwen smiled and nodded at the young man, whom she'd only seen briefly in the servants hall. "Do you want to stay outside for a bit longer?" she asked Sybil.

With a sigh Sybil responded, "I suppose we may as well go back inside. It's almost time for tea."

Gwen wheeled the spare chair she'd brought with her next to Sybil and bent over to help her up. Without prompting Tom came around Sybil's other side to help. Such was his strength, in fact, that realizing she wasn't holding any weight, Gwen merely stepped back and let Tom set Sybil down in the functioning chair. The moment was over practically before it began, but it lasted long enough for Sybil's heart to start racing. In his arms she'd felt light as a feather, an unusual sensation for someone who often considered herself a burden, both literally and figuratively.

Stepping back, he said, "I can take the other chair inside, or to the garage to try to see if I can straighten it out."

"Do you really think you can fix it?" Sybil asked.

Tom bent down to look at the wheel again. "I could but . . "

"But what?" Gwen asked.

"But, well, I could also go to the bicycle shop in the village and see if they have any spare wheels—those would certainly be better for outdoor use."

"Do you really think that would work?" Sybil asked hopefully.

Tom shrugged. "It never hurts to try."

"All right, then," Sybil said. "But I'll be very disappointed, now that you've raised my hopes, if you aren't successful."

"I'm always successful," he said, confidently. "In one way or another."

With that he gave a slight bow and left with the broken chair.

When he was out of earshot, Sybil said, with a laugh, "He's terribly full of himself."

"I've seen him only once," Gwen said. "I hadn't really spoken to him, but he seemed nice."

"He's that too."


	2. Chapter 2

**A month later**

"Pardon me, Lady Sybil?"

Sybil looked up from the corner of the library where she'd been sitting reading on her own, while Gwen took her afternoon break. "Yes, Thomas?"

"Mr. Branson said to tell you that he's finished mending your wheelchair and would be happy to help you test it out if you'd like to come outside?"

Sybil smiled. "Oh, yes." Sybil put her book down on the sill of the window next to which she'd been sitting and, in her chair, turned and began to wheel herself toward the door. She'd been waiting for the chance to talk with Branson again since they met in the garden, but other than catching a glimpse here and there in the yard as he drove the motor up to take her parents or sisters somewhere, she'd not seen him.

As Sybil approached the doorway, Thomas stepped forward to take the back of the chair and push her.

"Not to worry, Thomas, I can do it."

"I'm afraid his lordship or her ladyship would not look too kindly on me if either of them saw that I wasn't helping you."

"Well, it's a good thing everyone's in London," Sybil said looking up at Thomas with a smile as they went into the main hall. She could see that he was trying his hardest not to smile back, which only made her wish that he would without reservation, without thinking that she would judge him for allowing himself a moment's mirth. Before her accident, Sybil had taken the lives of the servants for granted. They had been, in a sense, invisible to her, which is precisely what servants are supposed to be. Now, that she needed them so much more, however, she noticed that they went to great lengths not only to help her, but also to continue to seem invisible. She wanted to tell them all, especially now that they were her primary company, that she wanted their friendship more so than their service.

When she and Thomas made it to the door, Thomas stepped forward and opened it, and though it took a bit more effort, Sybil continued to wheel herself through the gravel to where Tom was waiting, while Thomas remained just outside the door, waiting for when she'd be ready to come back in. Hearing her approach, Tom turned and smiled. Sybil couldn't help but grin back.

"Did you succeed as promised?" Sybil asked.

"I think so," Tom said kneeling down next to his handiwork. "Finding replacements for the large wheels was easy. The small ones were the challenge, but the repair shop in the village that I mentioned had a used child's model so I bought it for the parts."

"You needn't have done that," Sybil said. "Please tell me how much it was, and I'll pay you back."

Tom looked down and laughed lightly. "I didn't actually spend money."

Sybil shot him a confused look. "But you said—"

"I paid with labor. That's why it took so long. It took my half-day every week for a month. Otherwise, you'd have had this back in a quarter of that time. "

"Well, you certainly needn't have done _that_," Sybil said more quietly, now feeling a bit embarrassed and unworthy of what could only be considered a gift. "Please let me pay you."

Tom stood. "Your parents pay me plenty, and this one wasn't going to get you very far very fast," Tom said playfully kicking the right wheel of the chair she was currently on. "You need something more reliable if you're to make your escape someday."

Sybil looked up to meet his eyes and smiled again.

"Want to give it a go?"

Sybil bit her lip and nodded.

Tom took a step toward her but immediately stepped back again. "May I?" he asked a bit sheepishly.

"You may."

Tom picked her up easily—again—and set her down in the refurbished chair. He moved behind her and began pushing. The gravel still made the ride bumpy, but this chair moved through the rocks without trouble. Tom continued on until they were on the grass, and here was where Sybil could feel the true difference. The wheels didn't get lodged in the grass or sink where the soil was especially moist. They moved over the ground so smoothly, in fact, that Tom tilted the chair back slightly so the small front wheels were off the ground and started running.

"What are you doing!?" Sybil shrieked, grabbing the arms of the chair and laughing. She looked up and from her current vantage point, with her head tilted back, she could look up at his face, on which she could see a wide smile.

"What do you think?" He asked looking down at her briefly, but not slowing his gait.

"I think I used to run faster than _this_!"

Tom grinned and sped up. Sybil shrieked again at the sudden burst of speed. After going about fifty yards, almost to the gate, he took a wide turn back, Sybil laughing the whole way back to the door, where a now bewildered Thomas still stood.

Tom leaned over, putting his hands on his knees to catch his breath. "I haven't run like that since my brothers and I had wheelbarrow races on my grandparents' farm."

"We used to do that too," Thomas said, finally allowing himself to smile. "It drove my mum crazy."

"A wheelbarrow race?" Sybil asked. "Is that what I think it is?"

"I'm afraid so," Thomas said.

"Actually, milady, it's better than you think," Tom said, getting behind Sybil again and pushing her, not toward the door, but toward the path that led to the back of the house, the garage and the service entrance. "Come on, Thomas," he added over his shoulder at the footman. "Mrs. Hughes won't be back from the village for at least an hour."

Closing the front door and running to catch up, Thomas said, "And what exactly do you intend to do Mr. Branson?"

"I've got a wheelbarrow in the garage," Tom said, "and I reckon we can find a hallboy with nothing to do. Let's see just how fast this chair can really go."

"I don't know if this is a good idea," Thomas said.

"Come on, Thomas," Sybil said, "If we're caught, I'll tell Mrs. Hughes it was all my idea."

**xxx**

A half-hour later, as Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore made their way down the drive, Mrs. Patmore said, "Is someone having a party and didn't tell us?"

Mrs. Hughes face grew serious, and she quickened her pace. When the two women came around to the front of the garage, just about every member of the staff save those who were in London with the family was outside yelling as Gwen ran as fast as her boots would take her while pushing a wheelbarrow in which Daisy was sitting cheering her on. Slightly behind them Lily, one of the housemaids, was pushing Joseph, a hallboy, on what looked to Mrs. Hughes like Lady Sybil's wheelchair, the one she knew Tom had been working on. Everyone else was yelling and screaming and cheering as they ran toward William, whose arms were outstretched on the other end of the yard. Such was the ruckus that nobody noticed her arrival until Mrs. Hughes was practically in the middle of the race and yelled out, "What is the meaning of this!?"

The crowd stilled suddenly.

"Do you crazy lot have any idea how irresponsible and disrespectful you are not just to shirk your responsibilities but to use Lady Sybil's wheelchair as a plaything!" Noticing Gwen for the first time, Mrs. Hughes added, "Miss Dawson, I may expect this tomfoolery from the scullery maids, but you! This is—"

"Mrs. Hughes, please! There is no one to blame here but me!"

Mrs. Hughes turned and saw Sybil, sitting on a wood bench that Tom had brought out from the garage. Her hair had come unraveled from its bun and was going every which way. Her cheeks were flush, as if she'd been … _running_? Mrs. Hughes felt a sting behind her eyes at the sight. She remembered Lady Sybil's early youth, the time before she'd lost use of her legs, and the face Mrs. Hughes was looking into know was the face of that girl, a girl who loved nothing more than to run and ride and muddy up her skirt.

"Lady Sybil," Mrs. Hughes said, more quietly. "I beg your pardon, milady, but—"

"I know, I know," she said, pushing her hands down on the bench as if she was going to stand up, even though she knew—everyone knew—she couldn't. "I know they all have work to do, but Branson fixed my wheelchair so I may use it out of doors and we were testing it, and I suppose it was all too much fun. Please don't punish anyone on my account."

Mrs. Hughes sighed and looked around at all the young people, whose heads were bowed in contrition. All of them had been working in one way or another since they were born, all except the one now speaking for them. She couldn't begrudge them a bit of fun, could she? She certainly wouldn't begrudge it of Lady Sybil, whom Mrs. Hughes knew chaffed in the confinement her parents kept her in.

"Please, Mrs. Hughes," Sybil repeated. "I'll go inside now, just don't punish anyone."

"Very well," Mrs. Hughes said. "But Mr. Branson please clean up the chair for Lady Sybil before it goes back inside."

Tom nodded, and just like that everyone dispersed, everyone except Sybil, who remained on the bench while Gwen walked to the front to where her other wheelchair had been left. Tom ran into the garage for a rag, then pulled the "racing" chair toward Sybil and began to wipe down the mud that had accumulated on its wheels and splashed onto the wood.

"I'm sorry if you'll get into trouble," Sybil said quietly.

Tom smiled. "Mrs. Hughes is strict, no doubt, but she's a good woman. It'll be a stern talking to, but no more than that."

Sybil nodded. "You're probably right."

"I think I've more than proven that you can take this chair anywhere, wouldn't you say?" Tom said, as he continued to clean it, a cheeky smile finding its way back onto his face.

Sybil smiled. "Thank you."

"It was no trouble, really. I like working on such things."

"No, I mean, this afternoon. I haven't had this much fun in . . . I'm not sure how long. Ages."

He looked over at her. "Good."

"Do you think you could take me for a ride in the motor this week?"

"Of course," Tom answered. "So you asked again, did you?"

"For my parents permission?" Sybil laughed. "No. If they find out, I'll ask forgiveness, and it'll be easier to convince them after the fact to ask to do it again."

Tom chuckled. "Well, as I said, I'd be happy to. I don't have much else to do, with the rest of the family gone and having opted to use Lady Rosamund's chauffeur."

"Were _you_ hoping to go to London and enjoy the season?" Sybil teased.

Tom laughed. "Not exactly. I guess I just assumed. It's fun to drive when the streets are full, like they were in Dublin."

"Mama and papa only usually stay for a fortnight—at least, that's been their practice since . . . well, since what happened to me. Mary and Edith will stay with Aunt Rosamund 'til the season is over or until they've gotten bored with things, whichever comes first. I suppose it's understandable that they don't take their own chauffeur, but then I've never had a season, so I wouldn't know."

"You haven't?"

Sybil shook her head. "I would have done it next year, I think, but what would be the point of a girl who can't walk being asked to stand and curtsey in front of the king?"

Tom scratched his head as he stood, having finished his task, but said nothing.

"What?" Sybil asked, curious.

He kneeled down again and faced her. "For my money, there isn't any point even for girls who _can_ walk."

Sybil laughed. "Well, I can't say I disagree about that, but even so . . . I'll miss the dancing."

"And who says you need the king's permission to do that?"

"I need my legs for it."

Tom cleared his throat and wondered momentarily whether he should say the words that had popped into his mind before saying them anyway, "There is more than one way to dance, milady."

Sybil felt her heart rate speed up and her cheeks warm again. She couldn't think of how to respond, which was just as well because in that moment, Gwen appeared again with what was now her indoor wheelchair. Without asking this time, Tom lifted Sybil up from the bench and set her down in it.

Tom stood. "Shall I take this one inside?" he asked Gwen, pointing to the once again clean outdoor chair.

"No, leave it here," Sybil answered for her. "We'll come fetch it before our daily walk everyday, won't we Gwen?"

Gwen pursed her lips to contain her smile and nodded, wondering how long it had taken Sybil to come up with a scheme to see her new friend the chauffeur on a regular basis.


	3. Chapter 3

Tom looked at the wind-up clock that sat on his workbench in the garage for what felt like the tenth time in the last ten minutes. It was already almost twenty-five minutes past two o'clock, which was when he was supposed to be taking out Lady Sybil and her caretaker, Gwen, for a drive. He'd been looking forward to it all day, but now he wasn't sure what to think. Usually, one of the footmen or maids would come fetch him when it was time to drive up to the front of the house, but for all the times he peeked out of the garage to see if anyone was coming, the yard outside the service entrance remained empty.

He was starting to think that perhaps he should go inside and inquire about it, when he finally heard footsteps coming. He stepped outside again and saw Gwen coming down the path with a concerned look on her face.

"Shall I bring the car around?" He called out before she'd quite made it all the way down the drive, suddenly feeling foolish for how eager he sounded.

"Actually, Mr. Branson, we won't be going for a drive today," she said.

"Oh."

Gwen smiled sadly as she approached. As she stopped a few feet in front of him, he could see the concern on her face, though there was nothing that suggested serious alarm.

"Lady Sybil very much wants to, but she's not feeling well at the moment," she said finally.

"Well, I only have one errand to run for Mrs. Hughes tomorrow, if she's feeing better then. In fact, my time is rather flexible until his lordship and her ladyship return next week."

"It'll depend on how she's feeling," Gwen said with a shrug. "It, um, well . . . her condition is such that she sometimes gets bouts of pain that render her unable to do much but lie in bed and bear it. Sometimes it lasts hours, sometimes weeks. There's no predicting it."

Concern washed over Tom's face. "I don't suppose there's anything I can do."

"I'm afraid not. She's quite used to it by now. I dare say she's more upset that she may miss the drive you offered before Lord and Lady Grantham return than she is about having to deal with the pain itself."

"Well, I do hope she recovers soon," he said. "Not for going for a drive, I mean. Just for her own sake."

Gwen smiled at his sincerity. "I'll let her know you said so."

Tom stood silently, feeling rather helpless, as he watched Gwen walk back to the house.

After she was gone, he walked back into the garage and his eyes fell on the wheelchair Sybil had asked him to keep there. He'd grown used to seeing her and Gwen come fetch it almost every day. Usually, if he wasn't busy, they would linger and talk with him for a while.

Once, when their intention had been to sit and read in the garden and Gwen had forgotten to bring a book for herself, Sybil insisted that she go back inside for one, leaving Tom and Sybil to talk on their own. It wasn't until they were gone again and Tom looked at the clock that he saw that Gwen had been gone for more than a quarter of an hour. He wondered momentarily if she'd been deliberately slow, but then shook off the thought. Gwen would only have done such a thing if Sybil had requested it or if she knew Sybil would enjoy his company. Neither seemed likely to him.

Still, he could at least admit that Lady Sybil was intelligent, well-read and thoughtful. The vibrancy of her personality, given the hand life had dealt her and the confinement she was kept under by her overprotective parents, spoke to a strength of spirit that he couldn't help but admire. He was sorry that he would not be able to give her a rare treat on this day, and he didn't bother to think about what it meant that he'd also simply miss seeing her.

xxx

Gwen knocked lightly on the door before entering.

Sybil was still in her bed, and Gwen wondered if she'd managed to fall asleep. Sybil lay on her side, a hot compress pressed against her lower back. There was a tea tray on the side of the bed Sybil was facing, so Gwen tiptoed over to remove it. Doing so, she saw that Sybil's eyes were open and shedding silent tears.

"What did he say?" Sybil whimpered.

Gwen kneeled down by the bed. "He said he hopes you recover soon, and not just so you can take a drive, but for your own sake. Those were his words."

Sybil squeezed her eyes shut, but Gwen could see a smile forming on her face.

"It's nice to have another friend, don't you think?" Gwen asked.

Sybil nodded. "I just wish . . . never mind."

Gwen looked over at the small bottle on Sybil's nightstand. From what Gwen could see its contents were untouched. "Milady," she began carefully, "I brought the laudanum. I thought it might make it easier."

Sybil opened her eyes and looked at Gwen with a hard expression. "Take it away. You know I hate it."

Gwen looked down. "I do, it's just that her ladyship made me promise to offer it when you were in pain."

Sybil reached for the hot compress behind her and threw it down to the bottom of the bed, then pushed herself over to her other side, away from Gwen. "Take it, and leave me to sleep. I'm already feeling better."

Gwen sighed. She could see that Sybil was lying, but Gwen had done all she could. She took the bottle of laudanum and quietly left the room. Sybil brought her hand up to wipe her eyes after Gwen had gone and moved so she was lying on her back. As she stared at her ceiling, she took several deep breaths and closed her eyes. When dealing with her back pain, to take her mind off it, Sybil always tried to think back to when she last felt truly happy. Usually, it was years ago, galloping on her horse as fast as Lynch, the groom, would allow. The memory was a double-edged sword because it pacified her only momentarily. In the midst of it, she would remember that her happiness in that moment was gone forever. She could never be happy the way she'd been when riding. And just like that the pain would swallow her again. Her mother always insisted that the laudanum would make her feel better, but the few times that Sybil had relented it only made her feel numb, which was an altogether different feeling, not one Sybil enjoyed.

On this day, when Sybil tried to conjure a happy memory, the first image that came to mind was Tom Branson's face. Sybil opened her eyes as if the thought startled her, but she lingered on it just the same. She remembered how she felt when he was running behind her, pushing her in the chair he had fixed. She remembered looking up to his face as he ran. His fringe was falling on his forehead and he was grinning like a little boy. She remembered how he lifted her into one of the house's wheelbarrows to race against William, who was pushing Daisy in her chair. She and Tom had won easily, and Tom, in celebration and without warning or thought to decorum, had picked her up and spun her around. She'd laughed to the point of tears. Then, he'd sat her on the bench so she could watch everyone else join in the fun. Even amid the pain she was feeling now, the memory made her feel good.

She wondered whether their friendship would have blossomed differently—or even at all—if he'd met her under different circumstances. She wondered whether their wheelbarrow race would have ever happened, and before she realized she was thinking it, she thought to herself, _I'm glad I met him as I am now._

No memory she'd garnered since her accident had been equal to the wish to go back to life as it had been. None, until now. She wouldn't go back to before, not if it meant she'd have to give up Tom Branson.


	4. Chapter 4

A few days later, Tom had given himself the task of cleaning the garage in preparation for Lord Grantham's looming return. He'd not heard from Gwen again, so he assumed the drive he'd promised Sybil would not come to pass.

He'd just about finished when he saw Mrs. Hughes coming down the path toward him.

"Good morning, Mr. Branson," she said, with her usual kind smiile.

"Good morning, Mrs. Hughes," he responded. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"I just wanted to let you know that we expect Mr. Carson back on the 3 o'clock train tomorrow afternoon. He likes to come back ahead of the family, to have the house ready for their return. His lordship and her ladyship will be along the day after."

"Very well," Tom said. He was about to return to his task when he noticed her lingering. "Was there something else?"

"Gwen mentioned at breakfast that she believes Lady Sybil will be up for taking a drive today, after all."

"Oh," Tom said, stopping short. "What time should I have the motor ready?"

"She didn't specify, but likely after Lady Sybil has been served her luncheon."

Tom nodded and waited for Mrs. Hughes to go, but again, her feet remained rooted in their spot. She seemed to want to say something else, but eventually sighed, as if thinking better of it, and turned to go.

Later that day, once Tom had been summoned to bring the motor up to the door, he and Mrs. Hughes waited just outside the door for Gwen to bring Sybil down. As they waited, Tom eyed Mrs. Hughes warily as she paced back and forth across the entryway.

"I must admit, Mrs. Hughes, you are making me rather nervous," he said with an uneasy chuckle.

She stopped and leveled a stern look in his direction. "You _should_ be nervous, Mr. Branson. This is highly irregular."

Tom sighed quietly. "I wouldn't be taking her if I thought I were putting her in any sort of danger."

"You can't be certain what will happen when she gets in that motor."

"We, none of us, can be certain of what will happen when we get out of bed every morning—that's a truth she knows better than we do."

Mrs. Hughes' expression softened into something of a reluctant smile. "I suppose you're right about that." She looked down for a long moment, then added, "I don't like that they keep her cooped up in this house, but I know they're just worried, and so am I."

Tom could see easily how much the housekeeper cared for Lady Sybil. It was not his intention to abuse Mrs. Hughes' trust, but he wouldn't go back on his promise to Lady Sybil.

"Mr. Branson," Mrs. Hughes said finally. "I know we spoke of this when . . . well, when you first altered her wheelchair, but I believe it bears repeating. Lady Sybil is a sweet, kind person, and certainly did not deserve what happened to her—not that anyone does, but nevertheless I know that the limitations put on her are as much her parents' doing as the fault of her condition. I also know the instinct to help her and be her friend is a strong one because we all feel it, and Lord knows that accident did nothing to break her rebellious spirit. But all that said, Mr. Branson, the punishment that would come if she were found to be acting against her parents wishes would be meted out on the person who aided and abetted, likely not on the rebel herself."

Tom looked down. "Are you asking me not to take her out on the motor?"

Mrs. Hughes sighed. "Just be careful, my lad. I say that for your sake as much as hers."

Tom smiled. "Thank you, Mrs. Hughes."

A moment later, when the near-constant subject of his thoughts appeared, pushed through the door by Gwen, Tom smiled, more sure of his desire to do this for her than ever. Mrs. Hughes, however, became nervous again.

"Are you sure about this, milady?"

"It'll be a short outing, Mrs. Hughes, I promise," Sybil answered. "I just need a bit of new air is all."

Mrs. Hughes smiled kindly. "Do be careful, then. And drive with the utmost care, Mr. Branson."

"Of course, Mrs. Hughes."

Mrs. Hughes nodded once more and without another word, headed back inside and closed the door.

"How shall this go, then?" Sybil asked eagerly.

Tom could see that she looked tired, but the sparkle in her eye was as bright as it always was. Tom opened the door closest to Sybil, then turned toward her and Gwen and looked back and forth between the two.

"Why don't I get in first," Gwen offered. "That way, I can help get you adjusted."

Tom nodded and Gwen stepped in. He walked over to Sybil and as he bent down to pick her up said quietly enough for only her to hear, "I'm glad you're feeling better."

Looking into her eyes, he saw a weariness in her, but the way her smile brightened at his words changed her whole expression. "Me too," she said, as he walked with her in his arms toward the motor.

Getting her in and settled was not without some awkwardness, but Gwen having gotten in first helped and she took some of Sybil's weight as Tom climbed in carefully. Once on the seat, Sybil was able to adjust herself easily and pulled herself over to the window on the opposite side of the motor that Tom would sit so as to give herself a view of the side of his face as he drove.

"So, where to?" He turned to ask once he was settled in the driver's seat.

Sybil sighed wistfully, looking out the window. "Anywhere but here."

Gwen laughed. "Ripon, please Mr. Branson. I have several errands to run, for myself and for Mrs. Hughes in anticipation of the return of the family."

"Oh?" Sybil exclaimed turning back to Gwen.

"I thought she'd have an easier time accepting you getting out of the house if we had a destination. Don't worry, though, if Mr. Branson leaves me in the center of town, I should have everything done within an hour or two, and he can take you wherever you like in the meantime—if that's all right with you, of course, milady."

Sybil smiled and looked back out the window. "Well, if you have things to do, I won't get in your way."

Gwen frowned slightly. Her intention had been to give Sybil a bit of a break and some time alone with her new friend, if she wanted it, but perhaps owing to the fact she was likely still in some pain and feeling more acutely than usual the burden of her condition, she understood Gwen's arrangement as something that would allow Gwen to do what she couldn't if Sybil accompanied her.

"Go ahead, Mr. Branson," Gwen said quietly. Tom started the car going, and just like that they were on their way.

The drive through the village and onto the main road to Ripon was quiet. Every so often, he'd glance back to check on Sybil, whose eyes remained on the passing scenery. The look on her face was serene, but Tom couldn't look at her long enough to tell if she was as happy as he'd hoped she would be. It didn't take them long to get to Ripon. When they arrived at Gwen's first stop, Gwen asked Sybil once again if she would be all right on her own with Tom, while he climbed out to open the door for Gwen. The drive had served to pacify Sybil somewhat, so she told Gwen she would be fine and thanked her for her consideration.

When she was gone, Sybil directed Tom back to the road to Downton village, asking him to drive off the road on a beaten path that led to a small wood about halfway between the two towns. They'd driven about a hundred yards in from the road when Tom stopped the motor.

"I'm afraid this is as far as we can safely go without risking getting stuck in the mud," he said, turning in his seat to face Sybil.

"It's all right. I know as well as anyone wheels can only take you so far."

Tom laughed lightly. "Some day, I suspect, everything will be accessible that way."

Sybil smiled and looked out the window again. "I used to ride here before. Our groom kept as tight a rein on me as he did on the horses, but he could always be persuaded to let me go at least this far away from the house. That's what I miss most, really—being able to get away." Turning back to Tom, she added, "I hope Gwen didn't take you by surprise by asking us to leave her."

"I must admit she did—I assumed she'd be nervous on your first drive in some time that she'd want to stay with you."

"It's funny. She's the closest friend and confidant I have—really the only person who knows me inside and out, which is rather a necessity of the job. But I think she believes herself a burden to me. I can't believe that many caretakers would think that way, but she believes I wish she would leave me alone more often and longer than she is truly able to."

"Do you?"

"I wish I could be my own person again, but that's nothing to do with her."

"Maybe you could learn to do some of the things that she does for you or arrange your room in such a way that you could care for yourself. That way she would know that her company is something you want, not something you need."

"I suppose it's true that I depend on her far more than I should. It's impossible for me to know what I can do and what I can't."

"Impossible until you try."

Sybil narrowed her eyes. "Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Act as if things are that easy for me."

"I don't think they're easy—I would never presume to guess whether your life is easy or difficult."

"But most people assume I can't do anything for myself until I prove them wrong. You assume I can."

Tom shrugged his shoulders. "Shouldn't I?"

Sybil looked away. "No—rather, yes . . . it's just . . . it's nice, if rather unlikely. Even if I can't do half the things I wish I could, I can feel better about trying knowing someone believes in me as wholly as you seem to."

Tom smiled. "I'm glad I can be of service."

After sitting in companionable silence for a few minutes, Tom ventured to ask, "Is there anything you wish you could do right now?"

Sybil smiled at Tom, but shook her head. "As odd as it may seem, I actually feel quite content just sitting here talking with you."

Tom smiled back. "Me too."


	5. Chapter 5

"Miss Dawson?"

Gwen turned to see Tom approaching her. The two were in the servants hall to take their afternoon tea. (For Gwen, it after leaving Sybil with the family in the library, where they were doing the same.) Gwen had just left her used dishes in the kitchen and was on her way back upstairs when Tom had called out to her.

"Yes, Mr. Branson," she answered with a smile.

"Do you have a moment?" he asked.

"Of course," she said, but when she didn't move from her spot, he nodded toward the door, trying not to draw too much of the attention of those around them that he wanted to speak with her alone.

Once Gwen realized that was his aim, she followed quickly. They walked out the door and about twenty yards down the drive before he stopped and turned.

"Sorry for the cloak and dagger," he said with a sheepish smile. "I wanted to give you something."

He pulled a newspaper clipping out of his pocket and handed it to her. Gwen unfolded the paper, careful not to tear it as it was a bit frayed on the edges where he'd torn it from the page. It was an advertisement for horse saddles. After looking at it for a long moment, she looked back up at Tom, confused, and said, "I'm not sure what I'm looking at."

Tom pointed to one of the pictures. It was of a young girl sitting astride on a horse that had been outfitted with a saddle unlike Gwen had ever seen. The girl had metal braces on her legs, and the caption beneath the picture read, "Anyone can ride our saddles!"

"I wrote to the company to ask what this was," Tom said. "It turns out, the owner's daughter was stricken with polio, so he fashioned something that would keep her upright on her old pony. It was later that he realized there was quite a demand . . . they sell very well in America, apparently."

If Gwen was surprised at the lengths he'd gone to for information on something that might help Sybil do the thing she loved most to do, she didn't show it. In fact, given the potential this had to alter Sybil's current life and routine, Gwen could barely form any thoughts at all. "Golly. That's . . . I can't imagine what she'll say. I'll bring her down this afternoon so you may show it to her."

Tom scratched his head. "Actually, I was thinking it might be wise to run it by Mr. Lynch—make sure it's feasible and that her old horse would take to it."

"And you'd like _me _to do that?"

Tom laughed uneasily. "Well . . . it's only that . . . I'm not sure how it would be received coming from me—what would the chauffeur know of Lady Sybil's affairs?"

Gwen smiled at his thoughtfulness. A handful of the servants—the ones who'd been caught by Mrs. Hughes racing the wheelbarrow—knew Lady Sybil came to the garage for her outdoor chair everyday, but why would any of them guess she liked lingering there for long stretches merely to talk to him.

Looking at the paper again, she added, "I do wonder . . ."

"What?" Tom asked.

"Mr. Lynch has always been a bit set in his ways. If I showed this to him, he'd likely just take it and say, 'I'll discuss it with his lordship myself.'"

"And Lord Grantham would dismiss the idea immediately without even telling her about it."

Gwen nodded, frowning. After thinking for several minutes, she said, "It'll have to be Lady Mary. She's a rider as well, so Mr. Lynch won't question her, and she's about the only one who could go over his lordship's head and be forgiven."

"All right then . . . good," Tom said. "And just so you know, Mr. Carson brings all the newspapers down to the servants hall in the afternoon, once he knows his lordship is done reading them."

"Why are you telling me that?"

"So you can tell Lady Mary where you found the advertisement. It's not just Mr. Lynch I'd be worried about. To be honest, I'd really rather she not know it came from me."

Gwen smiled. "What would the chauffeur know about Lady Sybil's affairs . . ." she repeated.

"Yes, but, um, by 'she' I mean Lady Sybil."

"You don't want her to know that you found this?"

Tom hesitated. "I just . . . I know how it will look, and I'm . . . this will make her happy, and she doesn't need to know it's from me for it to make her happy."

Gwen bit her lip. "All right, then."

Tom smiled again before turning to go back to the garage. Gwen watched him go.

He was a good friend to Lady Sybil, and having been witness to the easy rapport between them, Gwen had never thought anything of it. He, on the other hand, seemed to fear what others might infer from it, and standing alone in the yard, Gwen realized he was right to.

_What would the chauffeur know of Lady Sybil's affairs? _

_WHY would he want to know of them?_

Gwen let out a sigh. She was certain their friendship was genuine, but that didn't mean others wouldn't question it.

xxxx

"I can't believe you talked me into this," Robert said with a sigh.

"Papa, for the last time," an exasperated Mary replied. "This will be good for her. Sybil needs something to focus her energy on, something to do."

"She has plenty of things to do. What happened to her reading or painting or going out into the gardens with Gwen?"

"Did you honestly think any of those things would suffice for long for someone like Sybil?"

Robert was silent for a long moment. "No, I suppose not."

"Mary's right, Robert," Violet piped in from her spot across from them in the drawing room. "You can't let her lead the life of a shut-in. She'll be miserable and make you miserable besides."

"I just don't want anything to happen to her."

"Papa—" Mary tried to cut in.

"Anything _else_," Robert added.

"Her condition is proof that you cannot protect her from everything that may come, so don't continue to punish her for it," Violet said.

Mary smiled. "Well said, granny."

Robert walked over to the table where a large bed sheet was draped over what was to be Sybil's birthday present. "I imagine it's too late to return this now, anyway."

"If it's of any comfort," Mary said, "Edith had to work hard to convince me too."

"What did it?" Robert asked.

"She said, 'picture her face when she sees it.'"

Robert smiled in spite of himself. He turned back to Mary and Violet to say something else, but at that moment, Edith walked in to the room quickly and said, "They're coming!"

Right behind her, Cora and Sybil came in, the latter being pushed by her mother.

"Good evening, everyone," Sybil said. "Granny, it's nice of you to come."

"Of course, my dear, I couldn't miss your birthday."

Sybil smiled, but her smile faded a bit and turned to a look of confusion as she noticed everyone around her smiling expectantly at her. "What?"

"I should think it's big enough that it needs no pointing out," Mary said, nodding toward the table with her present.

"Oh!" Sybil said, pushing herself toward the table. "That's … quite large. Makes me rather nervous to find out what it is," she said with a laugh.

"Go ahead, darling," her mother prodded.

Sybil took a corner of the sheet one the table and pulled. At first the sheet came slowly, but eventually, it started falling to the floor, pulled by its own weight, and revealed the last thing Sybil expected to see beneath it.

It was a riding saddle.

Sybil blinked several times, wondering if each time her eyes opened something else would take the place of the thing in front of her now. "This is my birthday present?"

"What do you think?" Cora asked nervously.

"I think I don't know what you think I would do with a saddle," Sybil said, growing irritated at her family's insensitivity. "Why would you give me such a thing?!"

"To ride it, of course," Edith said. "We thought you'd love it."

Sybil looked at the saddle again. "But …"

"Look at it closely, darling," Mary said. "Does it look like any saddle you've ever seen before?"

Sybil stared at the saddle. It was a man's saddle—not a side one like she had learned to ride on—of elegant dark brown leather, with a high cantle that looked almost like a chair, and straps presumably to secure the rider's torso to it. The fenders were thin and had straps where the knee would likely rest.

Sybil felt her heart start to beat faster and faster and tears began to pool in her eyes. "I can really ride again?" she asked quietly, looking at her father. "Really?"

Robert smiled and nodded, his eyes also teary at the sight of his youngest daughter. "Well, only near the house with Lynch guiding you, of course, but yes."

Sybil choked back a sob and rolled herself to where both her parents stood. Cora bent over so that she could embrace her daughter. "Happy birthday, darling."

"Thank you," Sybil said, still trying to calm herself down. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

"It was Mary and Edith's scheme," Robert said. "They got Lynch to look into it, find the best saddle of its kind and fit it to your horse. Biscuit took to it easily apparently."

"Oh, to have to wait until tomorrow!" Sybil exclaimed. "Could I just go try it now—to make sure I fit in it? Surely, Lynch could—"

"Heavens, Sybil," Violet said rolling her eyes, though she was smiling. "Let the man have his rest."

"Actually, dear, it'll be a few days longer than that," Cora said.

"What!" Sybil exclaimed. "How can you give me such a gift and expect me to wait to use it!"

"Well, you have to be outfitted with new riding attire," Mary said. "None of your old skirts will work with this one."

Sybil thought about how exciting it would be to ride astride and wear trousers, and laughed. "I suppose that'll be part of the fun, but if you knew you were doing this, you should have made the appointment for tomorrow."

"Is the wait really going to kill you?" Edith teased.

Sybil looked longingly at the saddle again. "It might."

"Ask if they can give you a covering of some kind for when you ride," Violet said.

"A covering?" Sybil asked.

"Do you have to announce to the world your riding as a man would?" Violet said.

Mary rolled her eyes. "Oh, granny, plenty of women ride astride nowadays. It's really quite normal."

"Normal is the last thing I would call it," Violet said. "But then our Sybil never had patience for normal, did she?"

Sybil grinned. "Thank you, granny."

Shortly after, Carson announced that dinner had been served and the family proceeded to the dining room. Mary came behind Sybil to push her. Quietly, she said, "I didn't tell papa this, but I thought you should know that even though Edith and I made the arrangements with Lynch, this was actually Gwen's idea."

"It was?" Sybil replied.

"She brought a newspaper clipping with a drawing of someone wearing a saddle like this last month."

"Oh."

"Does that surprise you?" Mary asked, curious as to Sybil's reaction.

"No, I just wonder … I'd have imagined that she would mention it to me first."

"I suppose she wanted to surprise you."

Sybil nodded without saying aloud what she knew to be true—Gwen would never keep anything from Sybil, especially not surprises.

xxx

**Later that evening**

"I'm glad I caught you," Gwen said with a smile, stepping into the garage.

"I'm glad you did too," Tom replied. "Five more minutes and I'd have been gone to bed."

"Sorry for the late intrusion, I just wanted to let you know that the family gave her the saddle tonight before dinner."

"Really?" Tom said, suddenly feeling butterflies in his stomach and hoping that Gwen couldn't notice his sudden nerves. "What, um … what did she say?"

"I haven't spoken with her yet," Gwen replied. "I imagine she'll ring late this evening, but Thomas was in the room. He said she cried a bit. Tears of happiness, that is."

"But she liked it?"

Gwen laughed. "Apparently, she wanted to get Mr. Lynch to dress the horse this very night."

Tom laughed. "I'm glad."

Gwen bit her lip, then moved to go. "Anyway, I just thought you'd like to know. Though I suppose she'll come tell you about it tomorrow."

Tom smiled. "Goodnight, Miss Dawson."

"I wish you'd let me say it was your idea," Gwen said quietly. "At least to her."

Tom shrugged. "Does it really matter whose idea it was?"

"It would matter to her that it came from you."

Tom looked down but didn't say anything. Gwen chucked softly. "Why am I even asking you?"

Tom furrowed his brow. "What?"

Gwen walked to the door of the garage before turning again and saying, "I know Lady Sybil. She's probably already figured it out."

xxx

"Would you like me to bring another candle?" Gwen asked Sybil, after she'd tucked her into bed.

"No need," Sybil replied. "I doubt I'll be able to do much reading tonight, anyway. I'm much too excited."

Gwen smiled. "Well, good night." She had just reached the door when she heard Sybil call out to her.

"What newspaper was it in?"

"P-pardon me, milady?"

"What newspaper did you find the picture of the saddle in?"

Gwen drew a blank. "Um . . ."

Sybil smiled serenely. "Never mind. Good night."

Gwen smiled a feeble smile and looked down as she stepped out of the room.

xxx

**The following day**

"Are you busy?"

Tom turned from where he was sorting his tools on his workbench to see Sybil roll herself in. He smiled in surprise. "No, not at all . . . good morning."

Sybil smiled brightly. "Good morning."

He walked over to where she was and kneeled, as was his custom, so she could look at him eye-to-eye. "Is Miss Dawson not with you this morning?"

"My sister said she'd walk with me this morning, but then disappeared, so I made my escape."

He chuckled. "I'm impressed you made it all the way down here on your own. I imagine the gravel isn't easy to navigate."

"I was especially determined this morning."

"Why is that?"

Sybil looked down at her hands, which she was wringing on her lap. "Will you stay put?"

Tom's brow furrowed. "Pardon me?"

"Do you promise not to move from where you are?"

"Um, sure."

"Promise!" Sybil insisted.

"I promise."

Sybil took a deep breath, moved her hands to her wheels and slowly crept forward toward him. His eyes widened slightly as she came closer, but before he could even wonder what was happening, she'd leaned forward and thrown her arms around his neck. He stiffened slightly, unsure of how to respond, but eventually gave in slightly and put his hands on her waist so as to acknowledge her embrace, if not return it fully (he wouldn't dare do that—not yet). He wasn't sure how long she held him. The feel of her against him rendered him a bit lightheaded. When she pulled away she did so only slightly, leaving their faces very close—so close he could see several different shades of blue in the irises of her eyes. There were tears in them.

"Is this, um . . ." he paused to clear his throat, which felt like it was closing up with the overwhelming emotions he was feeling. "If this about . . . "

He could barely form words, but it didn't matter. She nodded, understanding what he was trying to say before he said it. He looked down. "What if it doesn't work?"

"That doesn't matter," she said quietly.

"Doesn't it?"

Sybil shook her head. "People look at me and they see what I can't do. You look at me and you see what's possible. How do you do that?"

Tom answered honestly. "I don't know . . . I just do."

Sybil was about to say something else when she heard steps outside and immediately pulled herself back again. The loss of the feel of her arms around his shoulders was startling—like someone had thrown cold water on his face. He stood quickly and a split second later, Lady Edith came into view just beyond the garage doors.

"There you are! What are you doing all the way down here?"

Sybil turned to see her sister, a long on her face as if the intimate moment she'd shared with Tom hadn't happened. "Didn't you hear mama at breakfast? Branson can take me to get my riding clothes today."

"Really?!"

Sybil nodded. "The outfitter won't have time to come here to measure me for my new riding attire until next week, but said if I went to the shop, he'd have everything done much more quickly." Without missing a beat, she turned to Tom again and said, "So will you be ready at 3 o'clock, Branson?"

"Certainly, milady," he answered.

"All right, then," Sybil said turning toward Edith again and rolling herself toward the garage door. Edith came around behind her to push her, and Sybil stole one more glance at Tom, who looked like he barely knew what hit him.

As she and Edith made their way back into the house, Sybil thought about the fact that she'd just lied to her sister. She didn't like lying, but she had no choice. Nobody would understand.

Not her sisters and certainly not her parents. Nobody understood her, not the way he did.


End file.
